Countdown
by outtabreath
Summary: Luke and Lorelai figure out what we knew all along.
1. Default Chapter

**Author's Note**: I wish to thank my amazing betas: MoosieMC and Katera for the tough love and the help. This story is better for the input.

**A/N 2:** This is the R-rated, fit for version of Countdown. If you want to read the original (i.e. NC-17) version, head over to Lukewarm and check it out.

**Disclaimer: **Even though I have worked hard in the past five years to do so, I own nothing connected to the Gilmore girls. Amy Sherman-Palladino stills owns them; it would be nice if she started treating them a little better.

**Spoilers:** Not a one. Most of this isn't even canon anymore.

**Countdown by outtabreath**

"Five, Lorelai," he continued.

"Eeep," I squeaked, backing up.

"Four."

"Luke," I said, holding my hands up. To ward him off or to grab him, I wasn't sure yet; but I had to figure it out fast.

"Three," he began moving towards me, a predatory glint in his eyes.

How had we gotten from ten to three so fast?

"Two."

He was in front of me and I could feel his heat prickling my skin.

"One."

**-Ten Minutes Earlier-**

"Go home, Lorelai," he said, turning and heading up the stairs, ending the conversation.

I sat at the counter and watched him go, debating with myself. This was my out. I could leave and pretend that this had never happened, or I could be a grown-up and follow him. I didn't muse too long. I chose to go up the stairs even though my legs were shaking the entire climb, even though I almost turned around and fled several times. Quite simply, I knew that I had to do this.

As I reached the landing, I realized that he had known I would follow him. The door to his apartment was open and he was standing in the middle of the room staring at me as I walked in. He looked angry: his hands were clenched at his sides and he was rigid, every muscle tensed. I didn't care.

I stood in the doorway and readied to speak. He interrupted me as soon as I opened my mouth, "Lorelai, why are you doing this? You wanted me to stop it and I did." His voice caught, "Haven't I always done what you wanted me to? I did what it took to keep you in my life in any way that I could. It killed me to do it, but I did what you wanted," his voice broke and he looked like he was bleeding inside. "Why are you doing this to me now?"

"Luke," I said, stepping forward, into the room and towards him.

He stepped back.

I stopped and looked him in the eye, met his pained gaze squarely and unflinchingly. "Luke, I was stupid and scared. I didn't want things to change." I took a deep steadying breath, finally letting my heart speak, "I thought I didn't want things to change," I started to pace, flinging my hands around to punctuate my statements and keep me from grabbing him. "I was having panic attacks and everything was too much all of a sudden. I couldn't deal with everything being thrown at me. Rory, my parents, the Dragonfly, you. You were expendable."

He clenched his fists tighter and sharply exhaled. I kept racing along, terrified to lose momentum and my nerve. "I thought you were expendable. I was wrong. You..." I trailed off, not sure how to put my cascading emotions into words. "You were Luke. My friend, my confidante, my coffee-dealer, my chef," I was on a roll now, "my fix-it man, my investor, my shoulder to cry on, my supporter. I never realized how all of those things made you my Luke. Now I know it. You belong to me, Luke. You're mine and I'm yours and I want you in my life. Really, really in my life. I know you don't want to hear this, considering everything else, but I want you to know that this how things are. I like having you close to me, I like that you adore me, I like that I am terrified right now, but I'm still here. I like that you love me and that I love you and that I want you more than I've ever wanted anyone or anything in my entire life."

I was breathing hard - my heart was racing and I was sure I was going to pass out. "Luke, do you understand? I am petrified. I wish that I could have lived a full and happy life without coming here, but that's not an option anymore. We belong to each other and I had to tell you that and show you that I'm sorry and that I'm not going to run away because I'm scared. I can't. I can't be without you anymore. I don't just love you and want you, Luke, I need you. Not just as my fix-it guy or my cook or any of those other things. I need you to be my Luke. Mine. And no one else's." I was exhausted and terrified and elated. I had run out of words and now I needed to wait for Luke to catch up with me.

He had not moved a muscle. His expression was shuttered and grim and I was sure that I had lost him. My epiphany had come too late for him; he had, as always, done what I had asked him to do; this time, he had turned off his feelings for me. He took a deep, ragged breath, then another. His stony and implacable gaze met mine. "Lorelai, if you're playing with my head..."

"No!" I said, too quickly and too loudly.

His eyes narrowed, he unclenched his fists and he continued, "I am not in the mood for a Lorelai 'come here-go away' game."

"No game, no playing," I said, flushing and shaking. His gaze was hot and fixed, and he stared for so long I began to squirm.

Suddenly, he said, in a voice low and heavy, "I want to believe that you're serious, Lorelai. I do want this - I want you, that hasn't changed," the rush of relief was almost painful, "but, Lorelai, I want all of you. I think I've waited long enough.

"We both know what you do - you run when things get too intense - and things will get very intense - so I'm going to give you a chance to get out of here, now. I'm going to count backward from ten. If you are still here when I get to one, I'll know you're serious. But, Lorelai, listen to me: there will be no going back. If you leave, don't ever try this again. If you stay," his breathing went ragged and his pupils dilated, "well, just know that I won't stop once I start. I won't be able to."

I swallowed hard. My legs were jelly.

"Ten," he said, standing very still, his eyes roaming over my face.

"Nine."

Oh God, he was really counting down.

"Eight."

He looked like he wanted to devour me.

"Seven."

I realized that intense wouldn't describe what was going to happen.

"Six."

OH GOD


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimers, et. al. in Chapter 1**

**-Four Years Ago-**

We were on our hands and knees, inches away from each other and watching Taylor describe how the diner would look once we painted it. Then we looked at each other.

It was uncanny, how I could sometimes tell what he was thinking - how we had the same thoughts. We were of one mind for a full ten seconds - sharing the same thought...

_It's just one kiss. What would it hurt?_

He moved his head a few inches - I moved mine towards him.

_What would it hurt?_

Then came the split, when my thoughts became my own again and I could suddenly think of what one kiss could hurt.

It could hurt my coffee supply.

It could hurt his enjoyment in lecturing me.

It could hurt our easy friendship.

It could hurt him.

It could hurt me.

I blinked and said, "I've got to get going." I stood quickly, wanting to leave as fast as I could.

"Yeah," he said, standing with me. I had misjudged the distance and ended up standing very close to him.

_Don't,_ I told myself firmly. I left and went home.

**-May 14, 2004-**

After I told Luke that I couldn't change our friendship into something else, he stared at me for a very long time. Then he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. His face crumpled for a minute, then he stood abruptly and said, "fine. Okay."

I started to explain, but he cut me off, "you're running. I know that and there isn't a hell of a lot I can do. I want you in my life and I'll take you as a friend over nothing at all."

"Luke, this is for the best," I began, ignoring his hard eyes and his huff of annoyance, "you know how I am. I don't want to hurt you."

He looked at me like I was crazy and said, "nice execution of that plan, Lorelai." Then he walked away.

I didn't go after him. Why should I? He had started this, tried to change what was normal and reasonable into something that would only end up destroying him. Something that would end up destroying me.

**-Independence Day, 2004-**

Epiphanies are strange things. They come at moments when your thoughts are fastened elsewhere, intruding when you're busy doing other things, giving you answers to questions that you weren't even aware you had asked.

This is where my thoughts were fastened: on the sparkler I was playing with. This is what I was doing: sitting on a blanket in the square and not thinking and waiting for the fireworks to start.

Babette and Morey were sitting next to me, Luke was not. He was not even in the square. When I had asked him to come with us, he had glared at me and reminded me that he didn't like town festivals. Things being what they were, I hadn't even pointed out that he always enjoyed them when he came with me.

When it came to Luke, there were a lot of things I didn't do anymore. I didn't fight with him anymore. I didn't spend hours at the diner anymore, I didn't go there after closing. I didn't call him to fix things for me. I didn't flirt with him anymore, didn't bat my eyelashes at him to see his response. I didn't point out that he was angry and sad and isolated again because I could not have borne him pointing out that he was like that because of me.

I didn't do things that would hurt and I didn't think of things that would make me ache, so I did very little with Luke and thought very little of my parents and Rory and him.

So, instead, I thought about the sparkler. I made designs in the air and relished the thick smell it made as it spent itself. I let the hot and humid breeze move through my hair and weigh down my skin. I listened to the sounds of the crowd and realized that I was in love with Luke and breathed in the smells of cotton candy and hot dogs.

That is how it happened - in the midst of everything else. The epiphany did not come with fireworks or snowflakes to announce its arrival, it merely inserted itself into the middle of my existence. I sat stunned until the sprinkler burned to my fingers. I dropped it cursing and began sucking on my fingertips. I thought the thought again, _I am in love with Luke Danes_, just to see what would happen.

And this is what happened: nothing. No fear, no trepidation, no question. I fumbled to my feet, still sucking on my fingers. Babette was questioning talking to me, but I couldn't begin to take in what she was saying. My thoughts were fastened solely on getting me where I was supposed to be: across the square and into Luke's arms. I moved quickly and surely. The rhythm of my footsteps corresponding to the beating of my heart, _Luke, Luke, Luke_.

Happiness and certainty bore me across the square and deserted me at the diner's door. Suddenly, I was terrified. What if he didn't want this? What if he did? What if he didn't believe me? What if he did? Oh God, how was I going to do this? How could I not do this?

Another thing with epiphanies is this: they really don't give you a plan to act on and they don't predict the future for you.

I paced outside battling with myself for a good five minutes. Part of me wanted to march in there and tell Luke the way things were going to be. The other part of me wanted to run home and hide and never fall in love again.

I was in mid-stride when Luke jerked open the door. I stumbled and stared at him.

"What the hell are you doing?" he demanded.

I squeaked, not sure what to say. I stood there, still sucking on my charred fingers staring at him, my mind a roaring blank of stage fright.

He stood still, watching me warily. I jerked forward suddenly and he stepped back to let me in the diner. I blinked and looked around. It was blurry and very, very bright. I couldn't breathe. I had never been so panicked in my life.

He had rounded the counter and was pouring me coffee. I looked at his lowered face and blurted out, "I love you." Quite a way to start things, I know; at least it was gripping.

His head came up so quickly I was sure he would end up with whiplash. He slammed the mug on the counter and narrowed his eyes. "What?" he asked.

"I love you," I said again. Slowly and distinctly. It was getting easier.

He slammed his hands down on the counter and said, "Are you drunk?"

"No," I replied, stunned at his reaction.

"No, that would be too easy," he sighed, pulling off his baseball cap and running his fingers through his hair. He dropped the cap - a new one, I noticed - onto the counter beside my coffee and glared at me. "Lorelai, I don't want to do this tonight."

"Do what?" I asked. Suddenly, I was thinking of all the things I wanted to do with him. The word _dirty_ began to float around my head amongst the images.

But, as Luke couldn't see the images, he glared some more. "Go watch the fireworks," he said, his voice tense and angry.

"I don't want to."

"Well, I don't want you here. Please leave."

"What?" I demanded, not at all liking the direction this conversation was taking. He should be happy. Why wasn't he happy?

"Leave now," he said, suddenly looking very tired.

"No," I said flatly.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimers, et. al. in chapter 1.**

**-May 8, 2004-**

Luke was yelling at me. Really yelling. I had never seen him like this. He had yelled at me before, of course; we had a history of yelling. But not like this. He was jealous and frustrated and hurt. That was new.

He was going on and on about Jason and flowers and books and being on track. I had to stop him. I wanted him to stop yelling and hear that I was trying to tell him that there was no more Jason and the flowers were great and that I was on track.

Then he mentioned the moment after the wedding and I got him to stop talking. By agreeing with him.

I had discovered the secret of the universe. Agree with Luke and he would stop ranting and listen.

Still, when he lurched forward, I was surprised. I hadn't expected it, really. Even after everything else, I never believed Luke would act so decisively with me. I stepped back more out of reflex than anything else.

He told me to stand still and I did. I wish I could say that the world moved when he kissed me, that I heard angels singing our names and that I knew I loved him and would be with him forever. None of that happened. Kissing Luke was unexpected and strange and quiet and calm and the whole experience made my knees a little weak. I was the first to break the kiss - it seemed that he would have been happy to go on forever. I needed to breathe and figure out what I was going to do next.

I needed to know if my jumbled feelings were because it was Luke and it was weird or because it was Luke and it was good. He jumped back a little when I went for him, so I stole his line and he stood still and my knees wobbled and his arms around me were the only thing that kept me upright.

Kissing Luke was serene - and that startled me. This was completely uncharted territory. Experience had taught me that kisses were either really good or really bad. They were either saliva and teeth and tongues in the wrong place or they were heat and music and electricity and fire. They were never _serene_.

I backed away again, but he didn't let go of me, his eyes never left my face as he pulled me closer. And I wanted it - wanted him. My arms went up to encircle his neck. This kiss would be different. I knew it. It wouldn't be soothing and tranquil - it would be something else. Something not so scary.

When the screaming started I had a wild moment in which I thought that it was me - or him.

**-After "One"-**

"Lorelai," he growled. We were standing toe-to-toe and I could see myself in his enormous eyes.

I could feel the tension arcing off him, the effort he was making to keep from touching me. I could see how he was holding himself back; to, despite his earlier protestations, give me one last out.

"Lorelai," he said again, his voice cracking.

"Present," I said, a little more calmly then I felt. I watched my acquiescence ripple across his face. We lunged at each other and met in the middle, fusing instantly, joined at lips, chests, fingers, groins. I clung to him, not trusting my legs to keep me upright. He was unable to support us both; we tumbled, and I ended beneath his weight and looking up into his eyes, blue and clear and full of wonder… a look possibly even more arousing than the heat and hunger it had replaced.

"You're really here," he said, amazement altering his voice.

I pulled him back down to my lips. I was done talking. My fingers knotted in his hair and I tried to heave myself up at him, to rip through clothes and skin and bone to meld with him.

He pulled himself back and I got another look at his eyes.

The heat was back.

**-Summer 2003-**

I lied to my daughter. Convinced her that every gift and souvenir and tzotchke and bauble that we found wasn't good enough for Luke. I was good and convincing and she believed me so completely that she forgot to ask anymore.

In Spain, I talked her out of a matador costume. I pointed out quite rationally that Spain was too soon - we were sure to find something better later on.

We left the costume in Madrid.

In Paris it was an Eiffel Tower light. "He'd NEVER use it," I said. "He would mock it and roll his eyes at it."

"He'd use it if we gave it to him," she replied.

"But he'd hate it, hon. Every time he'd look at it, he'd resent us for bringing it back for him and making him plug it in and use it."

know, that Eiffel Tower light is still waiting for someone to buy it.

England was easy. She wanted to get jam. I pointed out that jam was pedestrian and boring and he was a chef, for God's sake. Giving him jam would be like bringing coals to Newcastle. Rory had rolled her eyes and said that it was obvious I had been in England too long and "hey how about this Big Ben clock?"

I convinced her to wait and we left England jam-less and clock-less.

We waited through Irish china and a Scottish kilt and German beer and a miniature Roman Forum.

Our trip through Europe became marked as much by the items we left there as by the sights we saw.

I lied to my daughter because I had the sick feeling that any gift we bought would not be for Just-Luke but for Luke-and-Nicole. I did not want him to dress as a matador for Nicole, feed her English jam, eat breakfast with her off Irish china, give her a German beer, choose a place for the Forum with her, or hold her in the glow of an Eiffel Tower light.

It didn't matter that he could do all those things without my permission; I refused to bring a gift to him that she would get to enjoy, too. I knew that he was happy with her and that I should be happy for him, but I wasn't. So, I traipsed through Europe with a pit in my stomach - rejecting every gift Rory chose, and we returned without a gift for Just-Luke or Luke-and-Nicole.

I knew that it was petty and stupid and I didn't care.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimers, et. al. before chapter 1.**

**-May 13, 2004-**

I woke up at three in the middle of an anxiety attack; it was dark and cold and very still. I lay frozen and listened to my labored breathing, trying to get control of myself. I started counting backwards when I could think again. I started at one hundred.

Around fifty, I remembered.

I had been dreaming of Luke and the dream had sent me into a full-on meltdown.

Oh God.

At the time of the fight, on the porch with him dressed in clothes I had chosen for him, with his voice cracking and his eyes hungry and his lips intoxicating, it made sense to be kissed by him and to kiss him and to want to kiss him again. When Kirk had come screaming down the stairs, I had wanted to scream myself, to rail, "it was just getting good. I was just getting into it. Why did you interrupt? Why? I want my third kiss - and my fourth and my fifth...I want to kiss him until the sun burns out and the world freezes and we are no longer breathing."

At three in the morning five days later, it no longer made sense. I could not do this. We could not do this. I would destroy it, like I did every relationship, and it would destroy him and me and us. If I ended it now, before he was more invested, it would be alright.

At three A.M. on a chilly and still spring morning, that is what made sense.

**-Forty-five Minutes Ago-**

Luke dragged me to a sitting position so he could pull my t-shirt off. It went flying into the shadows. I unhooked my bra and sent it to join my t-shirt. He was breathing rapidly, his eyes huge as he gazed at me. His hand was shaking as he moved to touch me, to drag his fingers from the hollow of my throat down to my belly button. I started whimpering his name over and over.

Then he leaned forward and touched his tongue to my skin and I lost all ability to speak. Amazing how such a little gesture could elicit such a response. His mouth was on me and it was unbelievable. I was mindless and all he'd done was touch me. What was it going to be like later?

Intense. The word flittered through my head over and over as I was holding his head in a vise-grip, terrified that he was going to stop.

He moved back a little so I could see his eyes. Oh, he was proud of himself. Well he should be. I would be writing sonnets about him - buying air time- erecting statues.

He cupped my cheek and kissed me. Long and deep and wet and slow, easing me back. His fingers were as busy as his tongue. He was unbuttoning and unzipping my pants. Pushing them down. Unclothing me.

Who would have ever believed that Luke Danes would be so assured and certain?

Then he moved lower and I was pushed beyond thought or reason; he was amazing. It couldn't get any better than this. I catapulted off the floor. His eyes were fastened on my face and I could hardly bear the adoration reflected there. I closed my eyes and let the sensations flood me, drowning me in their fury.

I believe I screamed. I think I drooled. I know I started shaking and shuddering and speaking in tongues. When I joined this plane of existence again, he was laying on top of me, his weight covering me, keeping me safe and bringing me back to earth. He was breathing with me, his heart was racing along with mine, and he was shaking, too.

"Incredible," I said - though I think it came out "iglencble."

He was smoothing my sweaty hair from my face and he seemed to understand what I was trying to convey because he said, "my thoughts exactly." He kissed me again, murmuring against my mouth. I caught my name and an endearment.

I rubbed the back of his head and his ears and he moved so he could see my face. He smiled down at me, "I could watch you do that forever."

I gazed up at him. "I could be down with that." He nodded, obviously taking it as a challenge, and began to move downward, his buttons scraping against the sensitized skin of my chest. It was only then that I realized that he was still fully dressed.

I needed to rectify that situation immediately.

"Get up," I commanded.

He froze and stiffened in my arms and I realized what I had said.

"I mean," I clarified instantly, "I want you up so I can get you naked, too."

"Lorelai..." he began. I put my fingers over his mouth. He sucked them in and began to beat a tattoo over them with his tongue. He was trying to divert me.

"Hey!" I said, pulling my fingers back out. 'No fair. You're breaking my concentration."

"Never said I would play fair," he grinned, starting to trace light circles on the inside of my wrist.

I let my fingers wander down his legs. He groaned and bucked. "I don't play fair either. Now, stand up, burger boy. I have things to attend to as well."

He pushed himself up to stand on shaky legs. My legs were just as shaky. He pulled me to him and kissed me. I began unbuttoning his flannel shirt as the kiss continued. I stripped it off him, then broke the kiss to pull off his t-shirt. He tried to kiss me again, but I had an agenda, too. I dropped to my knees in front of him and his breathing became very rapid.

Deliberately, I untied his sneakers, pushing at his legs one by one so he would lift them and I could pull off his shoes and socks. He wobbled a little as I finished and moved to kneel upright.

He said my name and it drifted down and broke over me. I would never tire of hearing his voice like that, broken and aroused and overwhelmed. I took my time unbuckling his belt and unzipping him. He was groaning by the time I had yanked his jeans down to his ankles. I found, much to my amusement, that his boxers were plaid flannel. Never let it be said that Luke Danes didn't have a style.

I chuckled, then went to work. He made a sound above my head that sounded remarkably like "gllrg." Soon, too soon, he was pulling me to my feet.

He pushed me back onto the bed and hovered over me, arms straight, legs tense, staring down at me, not moving closer.

"Hey," I said, fully aware that it was the new millennium and spontaneity was not always a good thing, "I'm good. Safe, with a clean bill of health."

He blinked, and then said, "Oh. Yeah. I'm good, too. Healthy and everything."

I tried to pull him closer, he was too far away from me, but he resisted my attempts. "Luuukkkee," I groaned impatiently. "What's the matter? We have discussed the safety issues. What are you waiting for?"

"To wake up," he said.

I teared up. Tears actually sprang to my eyes. I had put this adorable man through so much. No more. "You are awake," I said, pulling him down .We found a rhythm easily - like we had been born for this, which, in a way, I guess we were. Every single second of it, we stayed fixed on one another's eyes. I saw every emotion and sensation reflected there.

"Mine," I began to say. "Mine, mine, mine."

He buried his face in my shoulder and I whimpered. This was miraculous and fate and enchantment. Then his weight fell onto me again. I encircled him with arms of steel, unwilling and unable to let him go.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimers, et. al. before chapter 1.**

**-Eight Years Ago-**

I knew his name was Luke; it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure it out. It was right there on the sign in front of the place. Still, I called him Duke. He needed me to. I realized it the day I first saw him; it was weird, seeing a part of me reflected in a total stranger.

He was like me, or like I would have been if I hadn't been saved by Rory.

Angry, isolated. Sleepwalking through life. He had fallen into it so gradually he had never noticed, never realized how he had cut himself off from feeling and living and experiencing.

I would save him, balance the cosmic scales a little. I would wake him up.

So I called him Duke.

And he ignored it and continued to sleepwalk. I refused to give up, he became my own personal crusade. Three, four, five days a week I would drink his amazing coffee and call him Duke and try to piss him off - to rouse him and make him open his eyes.

After two years, I finally succeeded. I called him over, waving my coffee cup. He blinked at me very slowly as he approached the table, then leaned into me very close and said carefully and deliberately, "my name is Luke."

I smiled and said, "I know." I held my coffee cup out to him and said, "More coffee please, Luke."

He straightened and folded his arms across his chest; light flickered in his eyes and he said, "Coffee will kill you."

I extended my arm out further and replied, "But what a way to go." I blazed a smile at him. He stared back for a moment, and then took the cup from my outstretched hand to refill it, and I thought, "Welcome back, Luke. Welcome back."

**-Now-**

He fell asleep right after.

So Lucas Danes - Jack Lalaine, Grizzly Adams, Emeril and Bob Vila all rolled into one - is merely human after all.

I'm cuddled into the curve of his body and breathing with him, drawing letters and shapes on his bare back. He stirs against me, moving his legs restlessly over mine, grasping at my arms, "Lorelai?" he opens sleepy eyes to reassure himself.

"Still present," I reply, caressing the bones of his face.

I have never seen a smile like the one that breaks across his face. It is full of wonder, love, amazement, relief and joy. If I didn't love him already, I would for the sake of that smile alone.

"You're staying?" he says as if he can't quite believe that it's true, as if it is all he needs in this world.

And my throat is closing and I can't breathe right and my heart is beating faster than is humanly possible. I tighten my arms and hands and legs around him, letting my body speak where I can't. He nuzzles the curve of my neck and shoulder; he is already falling back asleep.

I stay awake, caressing his back and face, lazily learning his planes and angles, thinking, "Welcome home, Lorelai, welcome home."


End file.
